Bulletproof
by pepsicolagurl
Summary: Well, I finally found the way to hide from all your glances. I can but what's the use. (SpeedleCalleigh) (Completed)
1. Chapter One

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - I know nothing, I see nothing, I hear nothing. In other words, don't sue me. The title is taken from the Blue Rodeo song of the same name, and if I could remember what album it was from, I would tell you.

Author's Notes - This is my first attempt at writing something like this, so please be kind (rewind). In my screwed up little world, Tim Speedle is still among the land of the living, and there ain't nothing CBS or Rory Cochrane can do about it, so there. This has nothing to do with any of the other fictions I have somewhat written and posted on here (don't worry, none of them are finished). So, enjoy and let me know what you think.

Warning - This is simply a repost of the story, because decided, for some reason, to move it into some German section or something, and I couldn't get near it to switch it back. Sorry, people, same thing as before, not a thing has changed.

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Bulletproof

Chapter One

_Well I finally found the way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bulletproof _

He was more groggy than when he usually woke up. His eyes felt like they had been glued shut, and his mouth was full of cotton. Was he drinking the night before? He didn't think so. There was something wrong, he knew that. Slowly, he came back to conciousness, his mind beginning to process his surroundings, even without him looking around. The bed he was laying in wasn't his. It wasn't his comfortable, soft mattress, and he knew for sure that his pillowcases never made that kind of crinkling noise. He could feel a rough blanket under one hand, but the other hand...no, don't worry about that, he told himself. Just figure out where the hell you are.

Was that an alarm clock, he asked himself. It was some sort of incessant beeping, and it was beginning to drive him nuts. Maybe he should try to shut it off, whatever it was. He went to move his hand, but suddenly, the one side of his body exploded into pain, and he could feel the comfortable cloud of unconciousness begin to float back to him. He liked this, he realized. It was nice to just drift away. And the last thought in his mind was...something's wrong with me.

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A flicker of hope had entered her blue eyes before she settled back in her chair. He was moving in his sleep...if that was what it was called. For a moment, his left hand twitched and it looked like he might have been stirring, but the furrows in his brow had smoothed out again, and he had taken a deep breath. Now, he was just laying there again, looking for all the world like a sleeping little boy, albeit slightly battered and bruised. She shifted in her seat and sighed, pushing her long hair out of her face.

How long had she been sitting there? She had gone to the hospital directly after her shift, after she had processed the evidence from HIS crime scene. But in reality, it had been too many cups of bad coffee and too many times of dozing off only to wake up with a start and look to make sure that he was still there, to even count. How long ago had the incident even happened? She remembered where she had been. In the break room, pouring herself a cup of coffee during a break from staring at a computer screen, when her cell phone had given off three shrill beeps. It had been with a resigned sigh that she unclipped it from her waist, and looked to see the message. The code for an officer involved shooting had flashed there, as well as the address...one that she recognized.

She had dropped the packet of sweetner she had been opening and ran out almost immediately. She recognized the address, because she was originally going to accompany Horatio to the jewelery store, but when the computer she was working on had begun to spit out possible matches from AFIS, he had simply smiled, looking down at the floor before saying that he would ask Speedle to go with him instead. There were only two officers that were going to the jewelery store, and when she thought of either Tim Speedle or Horatio Caine being shot, her knees had buckled. She knew what kind of damage a bullet could do to a person, but she never thought that it would be one of them.

Thank God that all the crime lab's vehicles had lights and sirens, because she had turned both on to clear the traffic out of her way as she had raced down to the store, not wanting to know what had happened, but needing to know. She had arrived there at the same time that they were loading him into the back of the ambulance, and she had recognized the somewhat untidy dark hair almost immediately. Calleigh had taken a deep breath and leaned against the side of the vehicle as the paramedics talked amongst themselves in urgent voices, loading Speedle into the back and slamming the doors shut before they raced out of there, sirens and lights going as hers had only recently. Camera crews had already gathered, and she knew that they had all had an ear close to their police scanners. She gave them a brief, if not scathing look, before walking inside.

There was a pool of blood on the floor. A gun, one that she was familiar with, was laying nearby. And Horatio Caine was standing there, red hair in disarray, and worst of all, blood on the front of his shirt. She had asked him what had happened, but the answer wasn't satisfying, because she knew that whatever had happened, the fact was that Speedle had been shot in the left shoulder and had bled quite a bit before the ambulance had gotten there to take him to the hospital.

The rest of her days had passed by in a blur. It was the second day that he was in the hospital, now in the Intensive Care Unit. They had rushed him into surgery almost immediately to repair the artery that had been nicked and removed the bullet, which was currently in the ballistics lab. He had recieved enough blood to replace what he had lost, but he still hadn't woken up out of the anesthesia. The doctors didn't seem too worried, and for that matter, neither did the nurse who came in constantly to check on her patient and glare in Calleigh's direction every time. He would wake up when his body had recovered from the shock, they had told her. They had told all of them that. His parents, who had flown in from New York state in a panic, stayed with his during the day, and the day shift of the crime lab covered the night shifts, even if it meant sleeping in the chair beside the bed and going home only to shower and change before they had to be back to work.

Calleigh had been there the most. She had relieved his worried mother, who had gone back to the hotel they were staying in to get some sleep so that she could come back in the morning. Everyone else popped in and out, but she rarely left. She didn't know why. Out of all the people that she worked with on a regular basis, she was probably less close with Speedle than with anyone else. There was never a time, after their shift, that the two of them had gotten together for a drink or dinner. She had never been invited to his place, and she had never invited him to hers. That alone was strange. There had been numerous times that the entire shift, minus Speedle of course, had gone out for a quick bite to eat and a few drinks to unwind from a particularily draining case. He would always shake his head, say no thank you, and go home. Whether he was there alone or with someone, what he did...no one ever knew.

Maybe that's why she was there. She felt guilty for all the missed opportunities. There was no doubt that she was worried about him and his health, but she had never felt close to him, not like how she was to Horatio, or Eric Delko, or Alexx Woods. Oh, they were friendly with each other, and they had no qualms about teasing each other when at work, but there was just nothing there. If it had been anyone else on her shift, she would have broken down and cried, been unable to console, but because it was Speedle, she was only worried and trying to make up for it.

Her head tilted to the side as she examined his unconscious body. His hair was neater than usual, brushed into place. Probably because of his mother, she told herself, smiling slightly. His mother had been fussing over him sicne the moment that she had been allowed in the room. She had shaved him, too, and it was the first time in a long time that she could remember seeing his face look so clean. She had washed his face, as well, just before Calleigh had gotten there, and there was a lingering pink tint in his cheeks. His lips were chapped, but that wasn't too unusual for him. It was his hands that had interested her, however. She had never really looked at them before. She had seen him at work in the trace lab numerous times, and she had always been impressed by how he worked, and how fluid and natural his movements were. Even watching him type on a keyboard was like watching someone play the piano, because he stroked the keys and moved with an unconcious grace, but she had never noticed how strong they had looked before. He didn't have thin, nimble fingers like Horatio or Eric did. His fingers, his wrists...they all looked strong. And what he was wearing was wrong, as well. Gone was the usual dark clothing, button down shirts and jeans, or very rarely, dress pants. He was wearing the usual hospital gown, light blue and open on the one side to show his bandage.

She was broken out of her reverie when the door to the room opened, and someone popped their head in. "Hey, how's he doing?" Alexx asked in a soft voice, walking further into the room and closing the door behind her.

"No change. He's still out of it, but he's moving his left hand every now and then."

The female medical examiner nodded, before shrugging off the coat she was wearing and putting it in the corner. "He looks more peaceful than this morning. I stopped in to check on him before I got to work." And then she did something that Calleigh never had the nerve to do, even though he was unconscious. She brushed her hand across his forehead, frowning slightly. "He has a fever."

Calleigh stood up and stretched, her arms above her head. "The nurse said that, too. It's normal. Did you want to stay for awhile?"

She smiled, and took the empty seat. "Long enough for you to go get something to eat. I know that you're not going to leave his side tonight, but you need to take care of yourself, too. Go ahead, he'll be fine with me."

Alexx waited until the blonde had disappeared before reaching out to rest her hand on Speedle's. "You've got us all screwed up, honey," she told him, chuckling as she shook her head. "Only you would do something like this for attention. You've got Calleigh pretty worried. She hasn't..."

----------

He felt the pressure of someone's hand on his, and it brought him back. There was that noise again, or did he just dream about it before? Had he even woken up before that? Either way, it was someone's hand, and the skin was cool and smooth. His own felt feverish, he realized a moment later. And he recognized the voice that was speaking to him. He tried to listen, tried to understand, but he only caught the occasional fragment of speech every now and then as he laid there, unable or unwilling to open his eyes, even he didn't know.

"...hasn't left your side since last night. I'm surprised that she didn't take the day off to stay with you."

Who was she? If it was Alexx talking to him, and he knew that he would recognize that voice anywhere, then the only "she" that she could have been talking about would be Calleigh Duquense. He was confused. What could have happened to him that it would cause Calleigh to stay with him. They weren't particularily close. In fact, outside of work, they had never talked.

"...said that you cleaned your gun this time. It was just a malfunction of some sort, but that didn't mean..."

What was so important about that, he wondered. He didn't have his gun with him, he knew that. Couldn't stand the damned thing. Only carried it because the job required it. He would have done anything not to carry it around with him when he was working. It wasn't just a nuisance, it was...a gun. Nothing good ever happened because of them. Hell, he was scared of them. He hated it whenever he had to pull it out of its holster. It just wasn't natural, but why was she talking about that. There was no reason, was there?

And then he remembered. He fought through the fog that covered his mind and remembered what had happened. It didn't come back to him in a full flashback, more like pieces. He heard voices, heard Horatio asking him what was wrong. Remembered the snap as he took his gun out of its holster. Remembered the feeling of dismay when he pulled the trigger and nothing happened. Shattering glass, rounds being expelled, a yell. What was the yell? Who was yelling?

It was Horatio. Asking him if he was all right. The pain in his shoulder, the feeling of numbness that all of a sudden started there and spread out to his fingers until his arm felt too heavy to even lift. The terror. His eyes had probably been as wide as possible. The taste of blood in his mouth, remembering the feel of the blood filling his mouth. Couldn't turn his head to spit it out. Swallowed some of it, and the rest had dribbled out of his mouth, down his face. He remembered the feel of it, but whether it was warm or cold, he didn't know.

Then the peaceful darkness. The black that he had come to enjoy so much. What was wrong, what had really happened? He didn't know.

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_A/N - So, there's my explanation for the shooting. He didn't die, he was just injured. Uh huh, and monkeys fly out of my butt every night. Next chapter coming soon._


	2. Chapter Two

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl (pepsicolagurlshaw.ca)

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One.

Author's Notes - So, that was my explanation. Not too bad, huh? He didn't die, he just got injured. Speedle got a boo-bah, that's it. Don't worry, this eventually will turn into a romance story, but for now, I'm just building up the drama. I swear, it's coming. Trust me.

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Bulletproof

Chapter Two

_Well I finally found the way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can, but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you  
_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bulletproof_

----------

She looked up in surprise when her telephone rang, reaching for the remote to pause the movie that she was watching. "Hello?' she asked after she had pressed the talk button, reaching for hte glass of water in front of her.

"I was hoping that you would be at home," Alexx said in a warm voice on the other end. "I need a favor. You know that lasagna that you made when my daughter had her appendix taken out?"

Calleigh smiled. "You mean, the infamous Duquense lasagna receipe. I remember it well. I make it every month or so, and before you ask, no."

"No?"

"No. It's a secret family receipe. I can't give it to you. I'm sworn to secrecy." She paused. "Why do you need it?"

"I've been cooking for Tim. He can't do much with only one hand, and whenever he comes back from his physical therapy sessions, he doesn't have the energy to do anything but throw something in the oven. I've kept his fridge and freezer stocked up pretty good, but I bring him something new every weekend, and I'm all out of ideas. That's why I wanted your lasagna receipe. I figured that he would enjoy it. But, if you don't want to..."

She sat up a little straighter, wondering why she took that as such an insult. "Don't you dare. It's just...for one thing, I don't even have the receipe written down. No one does. We just make it. And for another, I would be offending my mother and my grandmother if I gave it to you. It's not that I don't care."

"Fine. You make the lasagna and take it over there for him, then. I'm sure he'd like to see a friendly face besides me for once. He needs something to eat, and he needs someone to visit him every now and then. Now, don't get me wrong, honey, I know that everyone's busy at the lab, but do you know that you're the only one that hasn't phoned him or dropped by for a visit?"

Calleigh blanched slightly when she realized that her friend was telling the truth. She hadn't seen him since the day that he had woken up in the hospital. It had been only an hour into their shift when they had gotten the call from one of the nurses in the Intensive Care Unit, no doubt pleased that she wouldn't have to deal with the group for awhile. They had gone down, as a group, later that afternoon. After spending so much time at his bedside, waiting for him to wake up, it became an awfully awkward moment for her. She had smiled and welcomed him back to the land of the living, before stepping back. Her reaction hadn't been like everyone else's. Alexx had given him a kiss on the cheek and had tried to smooth his unruly hair. Horatio had given him a friendly cuff on his right shoulder, and Eric had been so relieved that a simple handshake just wouldn't do. They had all chatted happily with him, all except for her. They had moved him down to a regular room the next day, and then discharged him later that night. Everyone had gone to see him at one point or another, visiting him at home, but she had feigned a busy schedule to stop from going.

"I...I know. I've just had a lot to do. You know what it's like, Alexx. I have to catch up on everyone on the weekends, and more often than not, I'm waiting for the drier to be finished with my clothes."

"Will you do it, honey?" Alexx asked, her voice compassionate.

"I don't even know where he lives," she told her weakly, admitting defeat. It looked like she didn't have any more excuses.

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Squeezee and release. Lift her arm up two inches, hold, and then let it down. Those words were beginning to irritate him. It wasn't just the fact that the movements caused him pain. He was getting used to the pain. It had been a week since he had started physical therapy, and he had to admit, it was no fun. And it was frustrating. He couldn't lift his arm more than a few inches, and whenever he wiggled his fingers, he felt pain shoot up his arm, making him grimace. The throbbing never left. There were many times that he popped some ibuprofin before bed, and woke up a few hours later, only to find out that he had rolled over onto his injured shoulder.

He was angry with himself, he knew that. It was some sort of arrogance that he had carried with him his whole life, that he could do anything that he set his mind to. It had helped him make his way through school with excellent grades, it had brought him to where he was at the moment, but now, there were things that he couldn't do. He had attempted, the night before, to hold something in his left hand. Just a spoon, nothing too heavy. He had been able to hold it for a moment, but then his arm began to shake with the strain, and it clattered back to the table, leaving him angrier than ever. He was glad that no one had been there to see. That would have been too much to handle.

There had been a steady stream of visitors in his condo, most noticably Alexx Woods. She stopped by once a week with enough food to last him until her next visit, simple things that he could pop in the oven or throw on the stove. He had been upset at first that someone had to care for him, independant as he had always been, but he had slowly come to understand that it was her way of showing that she cared. Whenever she commented that he looked like he lost weight, or whenever she brought over what had become his favorite dish of hers, homemade turkey soup, he fought a smile and allowed her to fuss over him. Everyone else had a different approach. Eric had come over one night with a case of beer and enough junk food to last a month to watch a series of football games with him. Horatio called him at least twice a week and caught him up on what was happening, stopping over long enough to barbecue a few steaks and have a few beer. Calleigh, on the other hand...

She had disappeared from the face of the Earth, as far as he was concerned. No calls, no visits...she was the only one that was acting like nothing had happened. Even he couldn't ignore that something had happened, that he had been shot and almost died, but she obviously could. He couldn't fault her for that. They were colleagues, not friends. They had just never had that connection between them. In fact, she made him uncomfortable most of the time. He wasn't sure how to act around her. It was easy to figure out for everyone else. Eric expected the two of them to do the macho "I'm better than you" routines, which was fine with him. Horatio expected him to be the scientific expert, which was fine with him. Calleigh didn't expect anything from him, and he didn't know how to show that. She either wanted him to be nothing, or wanted him to be everything. He could never figure her out.

He raised himself up off the couch when he heard the knock on the front door and groaned as he got to his bare feet, walking on the hardwood floors to answer the timid knock. When he swung the door open, he was surprised to see the slight, short figure of Calleigh Duquense in front of him. "Hi," he said, staring back at her.

As usual, she smiled brightly, shifting the casserole dish that she was holding. "Hey, there. Alexx sent me down here with this for you," she said, lifting the dish as explanation. He moved aside so that she could walk in, and waiting until she was finished kicking off her shoes to follow him to the kitchen. "It's my infamous lasagna. I thinkshe was upset that I wouldn't give her the receipe, so I made it instead. There's plastic wrap under the tin foil, just in case you wanted to freeze it rather than eat it right away," she rattled on, putting the dish down on the counter. "Oh, I see the maid hasn't been here for awhile."

He gave her a one shouldered shrug at her teasing. "I...uh...haven't got around to washing everything up yet," he lied.

He didn't do all that great of a job, because she immediately opened the cabinet under the sink and removed the liquid soap, turning on the hot water. "It won't take me more than ten minutes," she said over the sound of the running water, squeezing in a liberal amount of water. "So...how have you been doing?"

There was that damned half-shrug again. "Okay. I could do without the physical therapy sessions, but I'm managing."

Calleigh turned off the water and began to lay the dirty plates in the sink. "Does it...I know that I shouldn't be asking this, and it's probably the most inappropriate question, but...does it hurt?" She laughed suddenly before she started talking again, not allowing him to answer. "Stupid question, I know. I mean, you were shot, you had surgery...of course it hurts. I don't know what I meant by that."

She was off and running, he thought to himself. Calleigh sounded as if she had drank a lot of coffee in the morning, running off at the mouth like that. "Yeah, it hurts," he finally said, watching her plunge her hands in the hot water without so much as a wince. He turned away and peeled off the foil on the lasagna with one hand, laying it on the counter as he removed the plastic wrap she had put under it. "I can't move it all that much yet, and it hurts when I do. It's almost like having a sprain. That's the closest thing that I can think of." Without asking what temperature, he turned on the light in the oven and then the oven itself, allowing it to preheat. "You don't have to do that, you know."

She looked over her shoulder at him as she was scrubbing out a glass. "It's all right. It's not like I was doing anything special today. I just hope that I wasn't interupting you."

"There's not much you can do when you only have one arm. I've played enough computer solitaire to last me a lifetime, and there's nothing on television."

"In other words, I'm saving you."

"If you want to believe that."

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He had convinced her to stay for dinner. How he had done it, she would never know, but she was pretty sure that it went along the lines of him asking her to stay and her agreeing. He had managed, with some difficulty, to make oven-toasted garlic bread one handed when she had made a simple salad to go with their meal. They were both drinking nothing stronger than distilled water as they sat down at the small table in the corner of his kitchen. "Thank you, by the way."

She looked up, blue eyes startled. "What for? I didn't do anything."

"You made me dinner. That's more than I can do at the moment."

A slight smile went across Calleigh's face. "I can't imagine what that's like," she said, using her fork to toy with a piece of lettuce. "It must be so difficult for you, used to do everything with two hands."

Speedle smirked, putting down his fork so that he could pick up his water glass for a sip. "You'd be surprised," he deadpanned, before shaking his head. Even that pulled on his shoulder. "It's not as easy as I thought it would be. I forget sometimes, and reach for something with my left hand. That's when it really hurts. That's when I take the pills."

"What are you taking? Prescription or over the counter?"

He reached for his napkin, mindful to use his right hand. "They gave me some sort of painkillers when I checked out of the hospital, but I try not to take them unless it gets really bad. They can screw with your mind pretty well. Besides, they gave me enough painkillers there to last me a year. I try to stick with aspirin or something similar." He paused when a strange question crossed his mind. "I never thought to ask you before, but...have you ever...you know."

"Been shot?" Her head shook, painfully blonde hair shimmering in the overhead light. "Nope. I shoot the bullets, I don't want to try and dodge them. I've had the usual gun-related injuries. Slide bite and all, but I've never been shot."

The injured criminalist nodded. "Trust me, it's not fun."

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_I know, it doesn't seem to be going anywhere right now. This is just the build-up, the fun stuff comes later._


	3. Chapter Three

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One.

Author's Notes - I apologize ahead of time for the italics. I hate reading them, but I seem to write them a lot. Hmm... I'm taking a bit of creative license with the shooting scene (well, I took some creative license with re-writing the ending of that particular show), mainly because the first time I saw it, I knew five minutes into the show that Speedle was the one that was going to die, and the second time I saw it, I was too busy admiring him for the last time, except for in reruns on Showcase and A&E. I don't remember how it all happened. This will have to do.

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Bulletproof

Chapter Three

_Well I finally found the way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bulletproof_

----------

_Everything was happening in slow motion._

_He noticed the movement, the person ducking out of view. It was just a gut feeling that something was wrong, he knew that it was nothing more than that, but he had to act on it. His hand went slowly down to his holster and opened the snap that kept the gun from falling out, before settling his hand around the metal object. He smoothly pulled it out of its holster and held it down beside his thigh, like he had been taught in the academy. _

_"Speed? What-" Horatio started to ask, but noticed his nod in the direction of the back room. Horatio had nodded back and removed his own firearm, coming to stand behind him and off to the side some. There was more movement in the back room, and then he heard something that confused him. Horatio Caine called his name again, making him wonder for a second as he lifted his gun in the direction of the glass encased back room. What was that for, he wondered, and he knew even as he brought his weapon up that it wasn't in the smooth motion that it should have been. _

_Was he worried that he hadn't cleaned his weapon again? Speedle had learned from his mistake. He had gotten the lecture from Calleigh, and the "gift" from Horatio. He knew what he was doing, he was careful-_

_And then he pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. What did he do wrong? The safety wasn't on, it should have fired. He looked down at his gun, as if he could find the problem, and something caught his eyes. He couldn't tell what it was, but all of a sudden, his head snapped back up, and he felt the heat in his shoulder. There was enough force in the bullet to force him onto his back, laying on the ground, as his mind tried to comprehend what had happened. No one had pushed him, no one had even gone near him. He turned his head, to see if there was something that he had missed, and the first thing he saw was his gun laying there. The second was the blood that was beginning to soak through his shirt, at the shoulder. _

_The pain hit them, but it was brief as it suddenly went numb, and he found that he couldn't even move his fingers. Was it supposed to feel like this, his mind wondered idily. Was it supposed to be this lack of sensation? He dimly heard Horatio calling in the shooting, an officer involved shooting, HIS shooting. The blood was coming too quickly. The bullet must of hit something important. And his mind went through all the arteries in the body as he laid there, before Horatio's face swam into view. Already, everything was going black._

_"Speed? Speed?! Stay with me!"_

_Where was he going, he wanted to ask, but then he felt the blood that filled his mouth. His first instinct was to get rid of it. He swallowed some of it, but it only made him cough, and he was embarressed by the spray of blood that ended up on Horatio's shirt front. By then, Horatio had bent towards him, as if listening for a heartbeat. He wished that he could tell him that it was pounding like there was no tomorrow (maybe there wasn't, he thought), and that it was erratic as all hell, when he coughed again, bringing up more blood. _

_There was no doubt about it. He had sprung a leak. He swam in and out of conciousness, painfully aware of small details and nothing at all. Was Horatio still talking to him? Because he couldn't hear anymore. He couldn't-_

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He opened his eyes, feeling the sweat on the back of his neck and on his upper lip. He used his right hand to wipe it away, head pressed deep into the pillow at the same time. Was that how the whole...incident...had happened, or was it just the reoccuring dream that he had every night since he had come home. The only good thing about it was that he hadn't woken up screaming this time.

With a groan, he sat up, feeling the pain in his shoulder. It felt like it had when he had first woken up in the hospital, not noticing the fact that his mom had been sitting there, with her rosary in hand, tears in her eyes. All he had felt then was the pain, and the one fleeting thought...wish to God the bullet had done me in, because it can't be worse than the pain. But there was only one thing that he could do, and that was go to the bathroom, where he kept the painkillers. A grimace was on his face as he freed himself from the blankets and padded out of his room to the bathroom, not bothering as he picked up the bottle of prescription pills. He pressed it against his hip, making sure that it was going to stay there, before he used his thumb to flip the lid onto the countertop. He shook out a single pill onto the counter and replaced the cap, throwing the pill in his mouth. He turned on the faucet and cupped his hand underneath it, bringing the water up to his mouth and swallowing back the small yellow caplet.

He dried his hand and went back to the bedroom, laying down atop the sheets as he stared at the ceiling, trying to ignore the pounding in his shoulder. Think about something else, he told himself. Think about...Calleigh.

An interesting enough topic, he thought, considering the interesting night. For the first time that he could remember, that uncomfortable feeling that he had whenever she was around had disappeared when they had sat down to dinner, talking as two normal people would. He found it strange that she still didn't expect something of him, some certain characteristic, persona, or trait. She asked as many questions as she answered, and before they had even gotten to dessert, which had been the plain vanilla ice cream she had found hidden in the back of his freezer, they were acting as if they had done the same thing every weekend of their life. And she had made him laugh. That, by itself, was something strange. He found a lot of things funny, but he rarely had the nerve to laugh in front of someone.

He yawned and shifted against his pillow. Sleep was beginning to claim him, but he had forced his mind to work, and now he regretted it. The painkillers made him lacksidaisical, settling him into a comfortable lull. Everything blended together as he sleepily blinked his eyes. The last thing on his mind had been the name Calleigh Duquense.

----------

_Her nimble fingers picked a package of sweetner out of the container and she shook it, the substance settling at the bottom before she ripped the top off of it, bending down tot hrow the small scrap of paper in the garbage. She looked down at her cell phone when it gave off its familiar beep, and she plucked it off her waist, looking at the message screen. It was a code that she didn't see all that often, but one that she recognized. An officer involved shooting. Her brow furrowed as she looked at the address underneath and suddenly clued in._

_"Jesus," she whispered under her breath, dropping the sweetner back onto the counter, next to her mug of coffee. She barely noticed how to spilled across the surface as she turned on her heel and headed for the exit to the building. As soon as she was outside, her pace picked up, running to the employee parking lot, where she knew a vehicle was waiting. She started it up and yanked the seatbelt over her shoulder, snapping it into place the same time that she backed out of the parking space._

_Why did she have to say that she was busy when Horatio asked if she wanted to go along to the jewelery store with him, she wondered, before an even worse thought entered her mind. It could have been you. She shook the thought away and flipped on the siren and the lights, speeding past the vehicles that pulled out of her way. Her hands were shaking on the steering wheel as she pulled up next to the jewelery store, shutting off the engine and jumping out. Was it Speedle or was it Horatio?_

_She had to bite back a cry of rage when she recognized the face of the person. There was blood on his shirt as she watched them load Speedle into the back of the ambulance. Her body swayed for a moment, before she leaned against the vehicle, watching with dull eyes as the paramedics rushed to get into the ambulance, shouting something to each other...what was that dull roar in her ears? She could barely hear them as they pulled away, heading for the nearest hospital. She reminded herself of the name of the hospital before she found the strength to step away and into the store._

_It looked like a war zone. Her well trained eyes caught the glint of casings and spent bullets around her, before her blue eyes settled on the pool of blood. There was a footprint in it, probably one of the paramedics. And there, standing apart from everything and looking more dazed than she felt, was Horatio Caine, hair mussed, shirt covered with blood. Speedle's blood._

_"Horatio?" she asked, her voice breaking the silence. "What...what happened?" She swallowed thickly when he turned to look at her. _

_He opened his mouth to say something to her, but nothing came out. She could see that he was struggling with himself, with his emotions, not knowing what to do or what to say. She could relate, she thought to herself. _

_"They shot him," was all that he could say._

----------

She stretched her arms above her head, not even realizing that she had been daydreaming while waiting for coffee to brew. Yawning, she reached for her usual mug and filled it, before adding the proper amounts of cream and sugar, looking out of the window in her kitchen. Was that what really happened, she wondered, or was she adding details that she thought should be in there? Spending the evening with Speedle, watching him struggle with what had happened to him, had caused her to look at him in a new light.

He wasn't arrogant, which is what she had always thought. He was independant. How would she feel if, all of a sudden, people have to come over and cook for her, or clean for her. Now, she understood why he was so frustrated the last night. And she had been impressed when she saw how he managed to do so much one handed, how far he had come along since that first night in the hospital, when he had trouble remembering that he shouldn't be using his left arm.

But she had seen something else, too, and that was the frustration of NOT being able to use his left arm. There had been a moment, when they had gone out onto the patio for dessert, rather than stay in the house, when he had forgotten himself and reached for something with his left arm. His face had paled so quickly with the pain, and a sheen had broken out along his forehead as she bit back whatever cry had been forcing its way out. She had heard the grunt that masked it, and had sympathized immediately. He had waved it off, pretending that nothing was wrong, and that it had been just a twinge, but she had seen differently. She had seen the struggle in his dark brown eyes when he lied to her.

Nobody deserved what happened to him. He had done nothing wrong. She had checked his gun, and trying to be like any good criminalist, she had tried to forget about the time that he hadn't cleaned his gun. Regardless of trying, the words echoed through her mind, including the comment that Horatio had made when he had pulled himself together at the crime scene: he may have needed to look at his gun. After a detailed examination of his firearm, she could only conclude that it had been a malfunction. She had checked all the parts, and cleaned it herself afterwards for a test-fire, and when she pulled the trigger, nothing had happened, either.

What did that feel like, she wondered. That was the second time that he had pulled the trigger and nothing had happened. What was it like to face death down like that, saved once by a Kevlar vest, and the second time by...what, a few milimeters. It had only nicked the artery, it hadn't torn it. He was lucky, she told herself as she sipped her coffee. She had a new respect for him now, and for the first time, she saw him as an actual, warm person, not the sardonic man that she rarely bothered with.

And for the first time, Tim Speedle's name couldn't leave her mind.


	4. Chapter Four

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One.

Author's Notes - This is what you get when you're alone at home, sitting in your pajamas, and listening to a news story about the government's importance in importing strippers. Yeah, welcome to Canada. And thank you to all the people who reviewed. Thanks, guys. You're making me feel a lot better about writing this now (I feel horrible, because I don't write romance very well. Or at all.). Aside from that, there feels like there's something wrong with the pacing in this chapter. I'm not sure what it is, and I've tweaked it enough to make me go nuts, but...it's the best I can do (I avoid beta readers, because not one that I've had has been completely truthful). Anyway, enjoy and let me know what you think.

----------

Bulletproof

Chapter Four

_Well I finally found a way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it, I'm not bulletproof_

----------

He took a deep breath and attempted to lift his arm again. It was amazing what a week's worth of physical therapy could do to a person. He knew that he shouldn't try to push it, and he certainly shouldn't try to strain, but it was the first time in almost three weeks that he could move his arm a decent amount. It didn't even hurt like it used to, he realized. The throbbing pain that had usually nagged him throughout the day had mostly disappeared. He only felt it whenever he tried to move his arm more than it wanted to be moved. It was nice, almost being normal. And he could hold things again, albeit light things, but it was a start. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be heading back to work for quite awhile.

His feet shifted on the carpet as he looked at his watch, wondering how much longer he was going to have to wait. The protocol for any officer involved shooting was the meeting with the counselor, and it was his turn. He was the last person from his shift to be called down, and that was only because Horatio had stood up for him and refused to allow him to make the meeting until he was sure that he could handle it. Speedle figured that he had waited long enough and it was about damned time to get it over with. It was the equivalent of having to go to the dentist, he thought to himself. You built up the meeting like it was going to be the end of your life, and when it was all over with, you wondered what the problem had been.

But he hated the fact that he had to talk with a shrink before he could be allowed back to work. As if this person, be it male or female, knew anything about him to begin with. How were they supposed to decide whether or not he was competent for work? HE knew whether or not he could work.

Taking a deep breath, he told himself to calm down as the door opened, and he was beckoned in. He followed the man into the room and took the seat across from the desk, sitting with his right ankle resting on his left knee, adjusting his arm in the sling until he was comfortable. The two men stared at each other for a moment, the small office uncomfortably silent, before the counselor finally spoke. "So, how are you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. He was feeling fine. Between Alexx and Calleigh cooking for him, getting enough sleep, and relaxing at home, he was doing better than he wanted to admit. He was even beginning to enjoy being cared after by the two of them. If it wasn't the medical examiner stopping by on her way home from work, it was the blonde criminalist, loaded down with food and a smile. Dinner together at his place had almost become a habit. More often than not, she was with him.

"Any bad dreams, anything like that?"

What kind of nut job was this guy, he wondered. "No," he lied. The dreams hadn't gotten any worse, but they hadn't gotten any better, either. He relived that afternoon whenever he laid his head on the pillow to sleep. Always the same thing, never changing. And it still made him shake when he woke up suddenly.

"How's the shoulder? Much pain?"

Now he was going to pass himself off as a medical doctor, he thought to himself, trying not to roll his eyes. "Pretty well gone. Only when I force myself to move it. How are these questions supposed to help? I thought you were supposed to be examining me to see if I was fit for duty, when I'm done with my rehab."

"I am." Speedle ignored him as he went through the entire speech about how he was going to determine that, shifting uneasily in his seat. He had been through two of these meetings before, and hated them each time. He didn't see the point in trying to explain himself, his actions, or for that matter, his feelings to a complete stranger. He had gone through the entire incident already, in his mind, and he was sure that it wouldn't affect his job performance. He knew that he was going to be stuck int he lab for awhile, not allowed in the field until Horatio had worked his way through HIS guilt about the shooting, but he didn't mind that too much.

That was where he belonged, and he damned well knew it. Ever since he had accepted the job, he knew that it was what he was meant to do. It was his element. He felt more comfortable around the complicated machines and chemicals that surrounded him in the trace lab. There was something about tugging on a pair of latex gloves that felt right to him. The smell of the chemicals and the solvents was almost as good as the aroma of a home-cooked meal. It was home to him.

Mechanically, he told the counselor about what had happened that day, as his mind reeled with his thoughts. This was the last thing that he wanted to do.

----------

"So, how did it go?" she asked as she drained the pasta, taking care to keep her face away from the steam. The last thing that she needed, she figured, was a steam facial.

He made a face as he poured her a glass of water. "As much fun as going to the dentist. What would you expect? Useless questions followed by even more useless answers."

She smiled slightly as she dumped the pasta back into the pot, transfering it back to the stove. "Well, at least-" She broke off when her finger came a little too close to the element that she had shut off only seconds ago, and hissed in pain, immediately putting her fingertip in her mouth. "Are you laughing at me?" she mumbled around it, glaring at him.

His response was to go over to the sink and turn on the cold water faucet, beckoning for her to come closer. She backed away instead, shaking her head with her eyes wide. "Come on, you know it's the only thing to do. Sucking on it isn't going to help. It's only going to make it worse if you don't put it under the cold water."

"It's going to hurt."

"Don't be such a baby."

"It's going to blister."

"Don't be such a baby."

"It's too cold."

Speedle shrugged. "I give up," he told her, turning away.

She was at his side an instant later, her finger removed from her mouth. "I can't do it. I always pull my hand away," she explained. He sighed and took hold of her wrist, directing it towards the running water. She bit her lip when it began to pour over her burned fingertip, tapping a foot on the ground to distract her. "Okay, I admit it, I'm a baby. It hurts."

"You think that hurts? Try being shot," he deadpanned, moving her hand so that it was under the flowing water again. "It's not as bad as you think, and it won't hurt as much later on. Why am I explaining this to you? You should know this."

"I do, I do, I really do," she said, nodding her head for emphasis. "But it hurts. I don't like it. How much longer do I have to do this, anyway?"

He sighed again and pulled her hand away, reaching for the tea towel behind him. He gently dabbed away the water that was still clinging to her skin, and lifted it so that he could see better. "It's not that bad," he told her, turning his head to look at the small blister that was beginning to form on the side of her finger. All of a sudden, he became aware of the fact that it was his hand encircling her wrist.

And there it was again. That familiar feeling, and it hit him like always, like a bolt of lightning. He became painfully aware of the feel of her skin, soft, silky smooth. How would he classify that feeling, he wondered. Was it a tingle, a shudder, or something else. Whatever it was, he could feel the short hairs at the back of his head begin to stand at attention, as if they knew something that he didn't. This was Calleigh, it wasn't some random woman on the street that he would have to look over his shoulder to make sure that he had seen her correctly. This was...yes, a friend, he realized, after all this time. This wasn't how it was supposed to feel.

"It's...uh...fine," he told her, letting go of her. God, it was like he was still touching her. He could feel the warmth from her skin linger on his fingertips. And all the other small details that he had never paid attention to before assaulted him like a never-ending wave. The smell of her freshly washed hair. The green flecks hidden within her eyes. The gentle rise and fall of her chest with her breathing. "I'll finish this up."

"Are you okay?" she asked, when she saw the look on his face. If anyone ever asked, she knew that she would never be able to describe it. There were the secrets that were constantly in his eyes, pain from a past life, maybe, but most likely the wall that he built around himself to...protect himself? "You look-"

He turned away, averting his eyes back to the waiting dinner that was still on the stove. "Shoulder. Gave a twinge."

Calleigh pushed him away gently. "Go sit down. I can finish this. Besides, like you said, a burnt finger is nothing compared to a gunshot wound." The look she gave him was worried. "You look too pale. Sit. I'm sure that I can manage."

"You don't have to."

And that was the strange thing. She DID have to.


	5. Chapter Five

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One.

Author's Notes - The way that I figure it, there should be about three more chapters, and then a brief epilogue before I'm done with this one. Thanks for reviewing everyone! Enjoy and let me know what you think.

----------

Bulletproof

Chapter Five

_Well I finally found the way to hide frm all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can, but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bullet proof_

----------

It was almost of a relief to be out of his condo, he realized, walking past a music store without so much of a glance. He had convinced himself (and Alexx and Calleigh, for that matter), that he needed to get out. The past few weeks had been the same. He would wake up, go about a normal morning routine, and then the boredom would set in. He alternated between sitting on the couch with the television on, or a book held awkwardly in one hand, or sitting at his computer, playing game after game of solitaire. Was that some sort of sign, he thought to himself, shifting the gift bag from his right to his left hand. The afternoons were usually physical therapy sessions, but he had his last one the day before. Then, he would sit around and wait for the inevitable knock on the door, when Calleigh would breeze in, talking about what had happened at the lab that day, and start to prepare dinner for the two of them.

Never mind that he could officially move his left arm as much as he wanted, though it did tend to give up after a few hours. He could make dinner, he had told her, hewas perfectly capable of stirring, frying, and whatever else came to mind. But he had seen the look on her face, the look in her eyes, and he couldn't say no. SHE looked forward to dinner, now, not just him. SHE was the one that didn't want to break the routine.

But the routine was about to be broken. It was Friday afternoon, and on Monday, he would be back to work. That morning, he had gone through the obligatory meeting with Horatio, where he was warned that field work was out of the question for awhile, that he would have to remain in the lab. He didn't mind. He also received the results of his meeting with the counselor, which was, "detatched, short, and sardonic, but fit for work."

Speedle's mind wasn't on going back to work, however. His mind was intent on finding the perfect thank you gift for the painfully blodne woman. He had already about one for Alexx, and was planning on taking it work with him on Monday, if she didn't drop by first, and she had been simple to shop for. He had never found it a challenge to shop for her, but Calleigh was a different story. It had to be something important, something special, but what that could be...

He paused for a moment, sweeping the surrounding shops with chocolate brown eyes. A gift certificate was impolite and impersonal. He didn't know her well enough to buy her a CD or a book, and besides, that wasn't much of a thank you gift. Flowers were never a good choice. He never understood the giving of flowers. Flowers died, what kind of message did that send? And then he noticed the store he was standing beside. What was it, fate giving him a kick in the ass? He turned and walked in, before realizing that maybe jewelery would be too personal. And besides, he didn't even know the difference between the good stuff and the fake stuff, he told himself.

He shook his head to the saleswoman, telling her that he was just looking, as he began to persue the cases. She did have pierced ears, he thought to himself, but there were so many problems with earrings. What if she were allergic to some type of metal? He didn't want to be the reason for infected ears. No, that was no good, he told himself, stepping away from that case and looking in the next one. Bracelets. But even if he did get her one, it wasn't like she would have that many places to wear it. Loose jewelery like that was frowned upon in the lab. And ever since that night last week, when he had stood there, holding her wrist...no, don't think of that.

A necklace was the natural choice, he realized. Not something too long, not something too short. But nothing he saw was something that he could see her wearing. The diamonds were too big and sparkly, or the chains were too thick. Was he this picky about everything in life? He looked up in annoyance when the saleswoman had come back. "Are you sure that there's nothign I can help you with, sir?" she asked, polite as could be.

He shrugged, and it was the one shouldered shrug again. He didn't need to do that anymore, he had full use of both shoulders, but he had come into such a rut with that movement. "I'm looking for a gift, for a friend of mine. She...uh...helped me recently," he explained, his eyes going back down to the case. No, none of those were right.

"A necklace?" she asked. "Normally, diamonds are a little much for a friend, but we do have a nice selection of gems. Are you looking for something that would stand out or-"

"Delicate," he answered, surprised when that word came out of his mouth. Was that what he was looking for? That word seemed to apply. She wasn't a delicate woman, but for some reason...

"I think I might have what you need." She disappeared for a moment, and then laid a black velvet board ontop of the glass case. His lips almost curved into a smile when he saw it. It seemed to be the perfect gift for Calleigh. "Sir?" she asked, when he fell silent, staring at the necklace.

"I'll take it," he said, nodding to himself. Yes, that was the one.

----------

They had a routine down pat by now. She cooked, they sat in the kitchen to eat, and then went onto the small deck for fresh air after they had finished the dishes. She had been amused to find that he didn't have a dishwasher, but they had come to an understanding: he washed, she dried. It was after the water had been drained from the sink that she had spied the shopping bags he had stred on the kitchen counter. Her eyes landed on the jewelery store bag and nudged him, nodding in its direction. "What, you have a new girlfriend and didn't tell me?"

He took a deep breath. Suddenly, he was having misgivings. Was the gift right? He hadn't been sure. He had left it within easy reach, so that he could give it to her at any moment, but now, it just didn't seem right. Now, it seemed too personal. But it was too late for that, he told himself. She had already seen it. "Actually," he began slowly. "It's for you. My way of thanking you for everything you've done since-" He broke himself off and gestured to his shoulder as a means of explanation.

"Really, Tim, you didn't have to."

But he saw the look in her eyes and had to stop himself from smiling. She was glad that he had done something, and despite her words, it was written all over her face. "I had to do something. Go ahead, it's yours. Open it." He took the dish towel from her and dried his hands before running cold water to send the remaining soap bubbles down the drain. When he turned back, she had taken the slender box from the bag and used her thumbnail to slit the tape that kept it closed. He leaned against the counter, intent on watching her face when she lifted the lid to look at what was hidden inside.

From the depths of the soft cotton, she lifted a thin gold chain, a tiny golden angel suspended from the necklace. She laid it across her hand, fingering the small charm, her eyes caught by the tiny diamond chips that were imbedded in the wings. The look on her face was more than worth the time and money that he had spent. The way that her eyes had lit up, the way that her mouth had opened slightly in shock, the way that a flush had risen in her smooth cheeks. "Oh, my," she whispered, lifting it again. The pieces of diamonds caught the light and sparkled playfully at her as it spun in the air. "You really didn't have to."

He fought back against the relieved chuckle, his twitching lips the only giveaway, but she wasn't looking at him. "Yes, I did. I had to do something, and when I saw it...well, I thought that you'd like it."

"Oh, I do. I love it," she told him, beginning to smile. "Would you mind?" She passed him the necklace and turned, lifting her hair from her neck. "I swear, I have to be the only woman that can't put on a necklace without ten minutes in front of a mirror. You'll probably be better at this than I am."

His fingers felt clumsy for the first time in a long time. He stepped closer to her, and opened the clasp on the necklace, looping it around her neck. He cursed under his breath. "The light's no good here. Turn a bit," he told her. She did as he asked, and he followed her movement, sliding behind her and closer as he squinted at the clasp. His thumb slipped off the cklasp, and then finally he got it open, hooking the small gold circle around it and letting it go. "There you go." He reached up and loosened the hold she had on her hair, letting it cascade down her back.

She shivered suddenly, as his fingers straightened her hair, inadvertantly brushing the tender skin of her neck. It was bad enough having him stand behind her, and to have to notice all the things about him that she had never noticed before. The heat from his body had sunk through her silk shirt easily. The smell of soap, and toothpaste, and garlic from dinner. The feel of his warm breath against her bare neck, a purely intimate thing that had rocked her to the core. And now, now it was the feel of his rough fingertips, not at all soft and smooth, but hard and rough like a man's should be, touching her skin, running through her hair. She shivered again, not even realizing that he had stepped away awhile ago, and had turned away. "You okay?" he asked her, breaking into her thoughts.

She remained turned away, until the flush in her cheeks had receeded, lest he know that he was the one that was making her blush. "Yeah, it's...the air conditioning. You have it turned up high enough that you don't need to put the steaks in the freezer. How do you stand it?" she lied glibly, finally looking at him.

He simply raised an eyebrow as he continued to cut away at the cake that she had brought that afternoon. "Where I come from, it's not particularily warm this time of year. I'm used to the cooler temperatures," he explained, reaching for the plates above his head, sliding the cake onto them. A small piece of him, a larger piece of her. "It's warmer outside."

"We always eat outside," she reminded him, taking the cutlery from him and following him out to the back porch. It wasn't a secluded area, what with the other condo owners having decks only a few inches away, but it seemed that no one else took advantage of the space the way that he did. They were surrounded by silence.

Both of them toyed with their dessert, their appetites ruined by their unexpected thoughts in the kitchen. He had been just as surprised by the contact as she had been, and he knew that when he had finished securing the necklace, he wouldn't be able to resist touching that damned hair that she was so proud of. The thick, almost white blonde mane that she complained about as much as everyone else admired. And it had felt the same as he thought it would have. Smooth as silk, cool as water, and heavy. It had taken awhile for him to come back to Earth, to remember where he was, who he was, who she was, and when he had, he had simply turned away, because those feelings, those sensations...they weren't right.

She was Calleigh Duquense, the ballistics expert, the unfallible scientist, and now, a friend. And nothing more. Never anything more.


	6. Chapter Six

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One

Author's Notes - I'm taking a few liberties (again). Guess what? Although you never see it on the show, Speedle has a little office, just off of the trace lab. Yup, that's right. They never wanted you to know about it, but they can't stop me from letting you know. Fine, it's creative license. Don't hurt me. And yes, the italics are back. Again, I'm really sorry about them. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

----------

Bulletproof

Chapter Six

_Well, I finally found the way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can, but what's the use  
__When all I want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the language that we use  
__Yeah, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bulletproof_

----------

This was home.

He had spent most of his first shift back locked inside the trace lab, with people popping in and out to welcome him back and ask how his shoulder was. He took a few breaks every now and then to give his arm a rest and grab a cup of coffee, sometimes even a bite to eat. Calleigh was keeping him too well fed. And then, two hours before his shift was over, he disappeared into the small room off of the lab, the broom closet that he called an office. All it contained was a battered desk and chair, and both were usually covered with papers and folders. That day was no exception.

It seemed that no one had touched his paperwork since that last day he was there. With a resigned sigh, he moved a stack of files back onto his desk and took his seat, rubbing his tired eyes, before reaching for the first stack. Most papers only needed his signature, notifying that either he ran the tests and they were correct, or he was signing off on another person's work. Then, the files were be sent to Horatio, who would also sign off on them. Bureaucracy, like paperwork, was a pain in the ass.

The files stacked up on the floor, one after another, as he scanned the paperwork, scanned the printouts, and then applied a scribbled signature at the bottom. With a wry smile, he shook his right hand, already feeling the dreaded writer's cramp. The next file he chose made him stop, however, and put the pen down.

It had his name on it, which was probably why it had ended up on his desk. At first, he had been the one to run everything relating to trace evidence on the case, but after he was shot, it was sent down to the person with the next level of senoirity on the shift. It shouldn't have been there. But it was like a car accident on the sideof the road. He knew that he shouldn't read it, but he just couldn't help himself. This was about him, the incident report, everything that he didn't know.

He leaned back in the swivel chair, listening to it squeak in protest as his eyes raced across the words, looking for a certain section. There it was, plain as day. He sat forward again and dropped the file on the desk, his mind not wanting to comprehend what was written there. Calleigh Duquense. HER name was on the incident report, and there was no reason for it, he told himself. Yes, they all worked on the same case, and at times, their tasks had overlapped each others. ut she wasn't there when he was shot, so why would her name be on the _shooting_ incident report?

He ventured another look, and sighed again. He recognized Horatio's writing automatically, although it was just a copy. He wouldn't be able to miss his neat, compact writing for all the world, and on the next page, which he flipped to quickly, was Calleigh's. Round and loopy. He went back to the original page, and read it through twice, not understanding. Not wanting to understand.

SHE was supposed to be at the jewelery store. She was supposed to have been the one to go with Horatio. But when something came up, she had demurred, and Horatio had come looking for him. There had never been mention of it before. No one had brought it up before. He couldn't help but think about what would have happened if it had been her there, instead of him. Lord knows that Calleigh was a crack shot, a lot better than he was, though he fared well enough to retain his Detective status. But HIS weapon had some sort of mechanical malfunction, and that was the reason that he had taken a bullet in the shoulder. If it had been her, there was no doubt in his mind that her weapon wouldn't have seized up on her. She would have seen the problem in advance, not like him.

But then, it might not have worked out that way, he realized, slamming the file shut and pushing it away. And he didn't want to think about the "other way" that it could have gone.

He stood up and gathered the files in his arms, walking out of his tiny office and back to the trace lab, where he pushed through the doors to find himself in the normally busy hallway. He traded nods with a few people as he climbed the stairs to the next floor, heading directly to Horatio's office. He shifted the folders so that he had one hand free to knock, and then opened the door even before he was invited in. "Catching up on some paperwork," he told him, dropping the files on his desk. Even he noticed that his voice was duller than normal.

"You been okay today?" Horatio asked, raising his eyes to look at Speedle.

"Yeah, fine. Uh...there's something else." He picked off the top folder and passed it to him. "Someone put this on my desk by mistake. I don't think that I was supposed to get this one." Horatio didn't even need to open it to know what case it was.He knew simply by looking at the case identification number. "The rest just need your signature. I have a few million more downstairs."

His boss nodded slowly. "Of course. Well...thank you."

Speedle nodded and walked back out, ignoring the questions in Horatio's eyes. He stopped in the trace lab long enough to pick up a sheet of paper and turned, heading in the opposite direction. It had been a long time since he had been there, but that didn't mean that he had forgotten how to get to the ballistics area. He didn't bother knocking, but instead, walked right in and dropped the sheet of paper next to the microscope that Calleigh was peering into. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" she asked, looking at his retreating back.

He stopped, but didn't turn. "Paperwork," he answered shortly, listening to her soft laugh.

"The bane of my existence," she countered, before picking up what he had left for her. "Tim, are you...feeling all right? You sound like of off. Hard day in the lab?"

He turned to look at her, chocolate eyes unreadable. "Why didn't you tell me, Calleigh?"

She shook her head. "Tell you what?"

His sigh was deeper than normal, enough that she could see his chest move beneath the dark grey buttondown shirt he was wearing. "That you were the one that was supposed to go with Horatio that day." Her eyes went wide as she understood what he was talking about. "Yeah, someone left me the file by accident. And I read it by accident. And I learned about the fact that you were supposed to be there."

"By accident."

He nodded and crossed his arms, looking at her. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Would it have mattered?"

He didn't know how to answer that.

----------

_He was a spectator this time. He knew that it was different right off the bat. Because now, the short blonde criminalist was walking alongside Horatio. He couldn't hear what they were saying...hell, he couldn't even tell if he was really there, or just watching it as if he were watching television, but he saw every little thing._

_There was a more free-and-easy way with how the two of them communicated, like old friends that were working together, like two people that enjoyed working together. They were standing there, questioning the same man that he had helped interview when it really happened. And it was Calleigh, who noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye. There was something almost poetic in watching her move._

It was a dream, a nightmare, none of this was real. It was pretend, his mind working over time. Damn it, I don't want to see this.

_He watched her unsnap her holster and draw her weapon, how at ease she was with it. Her eyes had narrowed as she looked for her target, and there was Horatio, standing in the same place that he had stood when Speedle had been there. _

Wake up, he told himself. He didn't want to see this.

_"Calleigh?" Horatio asked, his , confused...he couldn't tell._

No, not now. Wake up.

_She nodded calmly in the direction of the moving body, never taking her eyes away. Horatio took out his own gun._

I don't want to see this. Make it stop.

_All hell broke loose. They reacted like any cop would react. The action changed from what he had gone through. There was no immediate hit in the shoulder, no falling back. Calleigh squeezed off two rounds, and he thought that maybe, this time, it was going to be okay. Maybe this wasn't the nightmare he thought that it was going to be. But even he had to admit that he knew better than that._

Open your fucking eyes, man. Don't look at this. Stop it. Just stop it already.

_Then it happened. He saw the look of shock on her face as she stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Horatio couldn't do anything but continue to shoot at the men as they ran away. And when that was done, he dropped his gun ont he floor, not caring about it, rushing over to where the blonde woman had fallen on the floor._

Stop it. Not this. Don't want to see this. Don't want to think this. Just sleeping, dreaming, a nightmare. It's not real.

_Why were her eyes open like that? Why were they staring at nothing? Why did they look so dead. He could feel the scream of terror, the yell of rage, building in his chest. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. It wasn't supposed to-_

His eyes snapped open suddenly, and he took a deep breath, unaware of the fact that he had been holding it in his sleep. Sweat drenched him, the plain tee shirt he was wearing, teh sheets beneath and atop his body. His pulse was racing, heart beat rapid. He could feel each beat, each thump, willing it to stop. The nightmare had made him irrational, and he had to stop himself from reaching for the phone and calling her, just to make sure that she was all right, that she was still there, that she was...she was alive.

He rolled over instead and stared out the window, staring at nothing, but nothing was better than replaying that in his mind.


	7. Chapter Seven

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One

Author's Notes - And this is the result of yet another horrible episode of _Navy NCIS_. Why did I bother watching it this week? Oh, right, I'm a glutton for punishment, especially when sweeps are over. The lyrics (both the usual ones at the beginning of the chapter, and the ones in the middle) are both from the Blue Rodeo song, "Bulletproof". Enjoy and let me know what you think.

----------

Bulletproof

Chapter Seven

_Well I finally found the way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bulletproof_

----------

He had been ignoring her.

Well, that wasn't the complete truth, she told herself as she stepped out of her truck and walked through the guest parking lot. He looked at her every now and then, and when he wasn't trying, she caught a glimpse of the pain that he had been feeling as of late. It had been three weeks since she had been to his place, three weeks since their last dinner together. Three weeks since he had last called her by name. She saw the pain, and the unguarded fear, and worst of all, she saw the dark circles under his eyes. He wasn't sleeping.

She knew about his nightmares, he had told her during a weekend dinner, when they had both thrown caution to the wind and decided to include alcoholic beverages to their usual dinner. A few glasses of wine and they were speaking more freely than normal. That was when he had mentioned the nightmares, how he could never get back to sleep after he had one, how he relived the same day over and over again. Post-traumatic stress symdrome. After he had brought them up, and then dropped the topic just as easily, he had looked better. No more bags under his eyes, no more dark circles. It was as if talking about it had made him feel better about them. And now they were back.

There was no reason that she could think of. The only time they had let him near a case that dealt with a shooting was when they asked him to run a few tests on a substance that Eric Delko had found on a bullet. There hadn't been anything to do with a jewelery store, an officer involved shooting, anything like that. But he wasn't sleeping again. He was more irritable than normal, more short with his words. Calleigh was worried. She couldn't help but be worried.

She stopped when she got to his door, and hesitated for a moment before gathering her nerve and knocking. She had to know what was going on. After spending so much time with him, after getting to know him, she had to know. He didn't answer her knock, but she wasn't about to give up. She knew that he was home. She had driven past his parking space, and had seen the bright yellow motorcycle parked there. She reached for the knob and turned it, hoping to hell that his security alarm wasn't going to go off.

The door gave away easily, and swung open to reveal a dark condo, the only light on was the one in the hood above his stove. The door that led from the kitchen to the small porch was open, however, and her heels clicked across the tiles as she made her way out there, holding onto the door frame as she looked at his back. He was facing away from her, a glass of red wine at his elbow, shoulders tightening slightly. "I know you're there," he said quietly. His voice was rough from lack of sleep.

She heard the music, then, the small disc player sitting on the table, music drifting softly into the still air. She remained there, listening to it, wondering if it had some meaning to him, or if it was just a song that he liked.

_Tell me one more time again I guess I didn't hear you_

_And I don't know all the secrets that you keep inside_

_I tried the same thing too_

_But they all come pouring out of me when I'm talking to you_

Calleigh sighed and walked out there, standing behind him. "What's going on with you, Tim?' she asked in a voice that was just as quiet as his had been. "You're not talking to me anymore, you barely look at me, and when you do...there's something in your eyes that I just don't like," she finished. When he didn't respond, she moved and walked in front of him, crouching down so that she was on eye level with him. "How much wine have you had?"

"It's Friday. We don't have to work tomorrow. I can get drunk if I want."

"How much?"

"Not enough," he answered frankly. "What does it matter?"

She blinked at his rebuke. "Because it matters to me. I'm sorry if that bothers you, but it does. You've got me worried. You're acting like you did when you first got out of the hospital. I know it can't be something that happened at work, because-"

"How do you know that?" he asked, words raw. He finally swung his eyes to meet hers, and held the gaze for as long as he could before looking away. There was something about her that made him want to look away when they kept eye contact for too long. "I told you that I read the file. I know what was supposed to happen."

She nodded slowly. "I was supposed to be there instead of you, but AFIS started to kick out possible matches for me, and I had to look through them, do an eyeball comparison of the prints. Horatio said that he was going to ask you to come along instead, and asked me to keep him updated. Twenty minutes later, maybe thirty, a page went out to all available officers. You know the drill. Officer-involved shooting, everyone needs to know."

Speedle took a deep breath and reached blindly for his glass of wine. She covered her hand with his and then removed the glass, putting it further away from him. "You do realize, that because of AFIS-"

"You can't know what might have happened."

Again, he looked at her, and the hurt look was gone from his eyes, but something had replaced, something akin to anger, but not quite. "Then you tell me why every time I close my eyes at night, I see-" He stopped and looked down, looking at where her hands were resting on his knees, so that she could keep her balance while crouched down like that. "Tell me why I see it."

"I know that you've been having the nightmares again."

"Not the usual ones. New ones, but similar." When Speedle stared at her, it was very pointed. And she knew what he was trying to say, even if he couldn't find the words. It felt almost like he had dropped an ice cube down the back of her shirt, and it was slipping down, very slowly, taking care to touch each part of her spine as it traveled. "I'm sorry, you didn't need to hear that."

"No, but I think that you needed to say that." She blinked once, twice, letting his words sink into her. "God, Tim, how do you deal with that?" He nodded at the glass of wine and the bottle that she hadn't seen before. Half of the bottle was empty, but he didn't seem drunk. Far from it, he seemed frighteningly stone cold sober. "That's not the way to deal with something like this."

"Then you have the damned nightmares," he shot back without thinking, wincing when he saw the look on her face. They both looked at the disc player when the song ended, and then started up again. "I like it," he said simply. "It fits."

She sighed, shifting her hands against the material of his slacks, her hands creeping higher by an inch. He felt the heat from her hands. He smelled her perfume. "It should. When are you going to learn? What happened, happened, Tim. You can't stop it, you can't...I'm not even sure what to say to you anymore. I thought that I knew you, finally knew what was going on in that cluttered mind of yours, but I guess I don't." Calleigh stood up, using his legs as her crutch, before turning away and walking to the door. "You know that you can call me whenever you want. I'll listen, even if you want to stay silent."

The words caught in his throat, but he managed to fight back against the tighteness. "I almost did," he confessed. "Every night since. To make sure that you were still there. That you were okay. Just wanted to hear your voice. But I couldn't. I don't know why, I just couldn't bring myself to call."

"I told you, you don't have to say anything. Just call. I'll be here quicker than you can play this song through."

He heard the smile, but couldn't see it. She had turned her back to him, when he had turned to look at her. Ironic, he thought. They both looked away, when the other wanted to look at them. There was some sort of poetic justice in that. "I just need time."

That phrase called her to whirl around and come stomping back to him. She sunk back into her old place, but instead of touching him, her hands shot forward and started to unbutton the dress shirt he was wearing. He watched her with dull eyes as she undid each of the buttons, exposing his chest to the still air. Her lips pursed as she moved the shirt off of his left shoulder, looking at the small scar. For such a little thing, she thought to herself, it did a hell of a lot of damage. Her fingers reached up, and ran over the scar with a feather touch, looking into his face as if it could cause him pain, as if it were still an open wound, and in one way, she supposed, it was. He simply looked back down at her, blinking calmly, trying to fight the goosebumps that were erupting all over him.

"You almost didn't have that time, Tim. Quarter of an inch more, and you wouldn't have left in an ambulance with the lights and sirens going. Your first stop wouldn't have been the hospital." He saw the sparkle in her eyes, knew it was tears, but unable to do anything. She kept feeling that area, the softness of the newly formed skin. "Damn it, do you know how scared I was when I saw it was you? When I saw Horatio standing there, covered in your blood? I stayed by your side in the hospital, every night. I slept there rather than in my own house," she hissed at him, nothing like the lilting, charming voice he had come to like. "I couldn't cry for you, because I didn't know you. But I know you now, and I can cry now."

"You are," he told her, as a single tear coursed its way down her cheek, stopping to rest just above her jaw. So easy to reach forward and brush it away, to kiss it away, to tell her that there would be no more tears. But that wasn't his style, that wasn't Tim Speedle. And he couldn't. She wouldn't stop touching him, damn it. Just wouldn't stop. He wanted to move away, but he wasn't sure if he wanted her to stop.

"The problem is that I care too much. I care too much about you, and I can't stop that from happening. When you do this to me, when you act like this..." She trailed off and finally removed her hand from his shoulder. She broke the contact, but only for a moment. She raised his hand next, and folded back all his fingers but the first two, swallowing thickly as she brought his fingers to rest against the side of her neck, seeking out the pound of her pulse. "I'm still here," she whispered. "I have been all along. Nothing happened to me. Tell yourself that when you go to sleep. I'm fine. I was never shot."

He closed his eyes, unsure of how to answer, or even if he was supposed to. "I get scared, every night." His whisper was so damned raw, so full of emotion, so unlike himself.

She moved his hand away and rested it on his thigh, before standing again. Her hand trailed along his once injured shoulder as she walked past him, determined to leave this time. "I'm not bulletproof, either," she told him, before disappearing.

She left him alone, with his wine, his darkness, and his music.


	8. Chapter Eight

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One

Author's Notes - Well, this is the last full chapter. After this is just the epilogue. I swear, I've never been on a roll with a story like I am with this one. What is it, three or four chapters in a day? Anyway, here are the particulars. The movie that's mentioned in here is White Christmas, starring Bing Crosby, Danny Kaye, Rosemary Clooney, and Vera-Ellen. And I borrowed the tradition part from real life. I really do watch this movie every year, just once. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

----------

Bulletproof

Chapter Eight

_Well I finally found the way to hide from all your glances  
__'Til the waiting game we play is through  
__I can but what's the use  
__When all I really want to do is hide out with you_

_It would be great to be so strong  
__You never needed anybody's help to get along  
__We're so scared of the silence and the language that we use  
__Yeah, we're careful and we're cunning, but we're easily bruised  
__I don't wanna kid about it  
__I'm not bulletproof_

----------

Who was he kidding, he thought to himself with a groan. He could do a lot of things, scientific things, complicated things that required a lot of thought and concentration...but when it came to wrapping Christmas presents, he was completely inept. The typical Alpha male. Strewn around him were the pieces of tape, strips of wrapping paper, and he was completely lost. When the doorbell rang, he was more than happy to give up on his lack of skills and welcome whoever it was in. He didn't care if it was the Devil; as long as the Devil could wrap, he could come in, have a beer, and even put his feet on the coffee table for all he cared.

It wasn't the devil, but the painfully blonde woman, smiling up at him, did look devilish. "Merry Christmas," she chirped, pushing him aside so that she could walk in, a shopping bag held loosely in her fingers. She frowned as he closed the door and plucked a piece of tape off of the front of his plain black tee shirt. "I take it you're wrapping presents," she added with a hopeful tone and a smile.

"Attempting it. And not succeeding," he told her, taking her coat from her. He almost laughed when he saw what she was wearing. Who else would come over to his condo, wearing a pair of pajama pants that were covered with polar bears, and a matching tank top. "You decide to go for a drive while wearing your jammies?" he teased, pleased to see the sparkle of laughter in her eyes. "Or am I just special?"

"You're special," she answered, kicking off her sneakers and reaching into the shopping bag to remove a pair of fluffy slippers, putting her feet in them. "Now, that's Heaven," she sighed. "I have to ask you for a favor, but I knew you would say no if I didn't just come right over and force it upon you."

He raised his eyebrows, looking down at the petite woman. "I'm frightened."

She nodded solemnly, walking into the living room. "You should be. But, now that I've come upon your prediciment, I'd be more than happy to trade a favor for a favor." She snuck her hand into the bag, and then stopped, pulling it out empty. "This is going to sound strange, and now I'm even embarressed for coming over here, dressed like this, but...well...promise you won't laugh?"

Speedle took a seat on the edge of the sofa, watching as she sat down beside him, on the actual cushion. It only helped to accentuate the height difference between them. "Shoot. Not literally."

"Now you're making jokes about it. I know that you've moved past it." Her cheeks filled with a delicate pink tinge that matched her slippers. "I have this Christmas tradition every year, and I thought long and hard about who to share this tradition with. Alexx and I did it last year, but...I can't think of anyone else that I want to share it with." She smiled slightly, looking down at her lap. "See, ever since I was a kid, my mom used to scour the television channels this time of year, looking for a specific movie. I know that you seem more like an _It's A Wonderful Life_ type of movie guy, you know, dark and almost depressing. But this, I watch it every year, just once. You wouldn't mind, would you?"

His eyes narrowed as he thought about her suggestion. "What are you trading for me to sit down about watch...if it's _Miracle on 34th Street_, you're shit out of luck," he told her.

"I'll wrap your presents for you. I can wrap a mean present," she told him, reaching into her bag again. "I know you're going to laugh, but-" She handed over the DVD case, waiting to hear that all familiar dry chuckle, the only laugh that he really allowed himself.

"I guess I can deal with Bing Crosby. So, what does this Christmas tradition include?"

Her face broke out into a mile-wide grin, the apprehension dying from her eyes. "Well, no sitting on the couch for one thing. Always on the floor, in front of the television. And we need some sort of junk food, Christmas stuff if you have it, but popcorn would be fine. Hot chocolate, a blanket, and two hours of your undivided attention. Think you can handle it?"

He stood up, wincing when his back protested. "The blankets are in the hall closet, and you can grab the pillows off my bed, if you want." Why did she blush at that, he wondered. "I'll grab the food and hot chocolate. But this better be a hell of a wrapping job afterwards." They went in their seperate ways, and by the time he had returned, she was laying on her stomach in front of the television, her chin resting on a pile of pillows that he recognized to be the ones that he slept on each night. Funny that she didn't take them from the side he didn't sleep on. He laid the plate in front of her and handed over one of the mugs of hot chocolate he had. "What, Alexx brought over the cookies. She brings me some every year. Something about how I'm inept when it comes to baking."

"Thank you," she said, watching as he settled beside her, sitting up. "Are you ready?" With his nod, she pressed the play button and smiled when the familiar music began to pipe through the speakers. She hummed along, causing Speedle to fight a smile beside her. She caught it out of the corner of her eye, and went a step further, mouthing the words. When she saw the smile fight its way through his normally stoic facade, she continued, singing under her breath. "_We'll follow the old man wherever he wants to go_."

At his chuckle, she reached out and smacked him on the thigh. "What was that for?" he asked, keeping his eyes forward.

"Be quiet. The movie's on," she cautioned him, tilting her head to the side as she watched.

It was less than an hour into _White Christmas_ when she suddenly paused it, leaving the room with a casual, "Bathroom break," tossed over her shoulder. He waited for her to return, and when she did, she went back to her place, laying on her stomach. Calleigh frowned suddenly and sat back up, rearranging the pillows before trying again. "I realize that you just had the carpet put in, but it's killing my hips," she complained, shifting once more. "This just isn't going to work."

He sighed patiently, finishing off the cookie he had been eating. "Well, hurry up. I want to know what's so important about Vermont that they keep mentioning it."

She rolled her eyes and sat up, looking over her shoulder at him. "Come here," she told him. "Behind me, Tim, not beside me." He obliged, his eyes widening when she turned to push his knees apart and settled between them, leaning back against his chest. He wasn't able to comprehend much of the movie at first, when she started it again, focused too much on the blonde head that had tucked itself under his chin, blonde silk catching itself somewhat on the rough stubble on his chin. Speedle snapped out of it when he heard her chuckle and felt the vibrations of her body against his.

He made his move, the move that would break down all the barriers around them, without even noticing. It seemed natural to loop his arms around her, settling his palms against her hips. Calleigh smiled when she felt the heat from his hands sink through her thin pajama pants, keeping her eyes on the movie, but keeping her mind on Tim Speedle. The touch felt so comfortable, so natural, that she found herself sinking even further, her back flush with his front. She could feel his heart beat, feel the strength in his hands. It seemed like so long ago that she had sat in the hospital, at his bedside, looking at those same hands, wondering about their strength. Well, she felt it now, she thought to herself.

They spent the rest of the time without speaking, only the occasional chuckle, and towards the end, when the General came into the ballroom, her quiet sniffles. Her hands had migrated down to where they rested on his, and at the end song, the last singing of _White Christmas_, she gently carressed his tightening hands, to let him know that she was all right, that she cried at this point of the movie every year. They sat there as the end credits ran across the screen, neither one wanting to move, neither one wanting to break the contact. "Christmas tradition," he murmured. God, his voice was so close. She felt the rumble in his chest when he spoke, felt the breath against her bare shoulder.

"Just like gingerbread men, hot chocolate, and mistletoe," she answered, a frown coming on her face when she felt his arms begin to loosen around her. She kept his hands in place with hers, smiling when he relented.

"I've got two out of the three."

Why hadn't she noticed his voice before? It was rough, like he didn't use it much. His words slid over her like the most sensual sound, the most comforting and warm blanket. She swallowed thickly when she thought of what it would be like to have that voice...but she was getting ahead of herself, and those were rather dirty thoughts, she told herself. Not at all thoughts that she should have about a co-worker.

Shit, who was she kidding? They had broken past the co-worker wall, broken past the just-friends wall. A friend didn't hold her like this, a friend didn't...her eyes slid shut when she felt the pressure just above her temple, that feather-light touch, willing herself to keep from making a sound. Yes, those were his lips, and yes, they had placed a kiss against her hair, and yes, that was her head turning towards his, and yes, that was the familiar tingle, the familiar shiver, the familiar quickening of the heart. She could sense his face nearing hers, but didn't open her eyes, because if she did, and he wasn't there, she could be imagining the whole thing, she could be dreaming.

But she felt his hand on the side of her face, and there it was again, that rough skin, a man's skin, and it made her shiver. She wouldn't lie this time, it wasn't the air conditioning. It was him, always had been, always would be. He was the one that made her shiver, and he understood that now, and felt his pulse quicken at the thought. But he didn't move closer, simply stared at her. Looked at her, was more like it. Examined the peaches-and-cream complexion, the thick dark lashes that rested against her skin, the warm pink lips that were waiting for his. But he had to know. He had to know that he wasn't going to fuck everything up with one move. It could be because of the time of year, since no one wanted to be alone at Christmas. It could be their sudden closeness, and she thought that this was what was supposed to happen next. Or it could be, he told himself cautiously, the fact that it was her and him, that it was Calleigh Duquense and Tim Speedle, and this was just...this.

"Calleigh?" he asked, watching her eyes open slowly, staring back into hers. God, there was something about that direct, frank look of hers. She didn't smile, didn't even blink.

"Tim," she answered, not a question so much as a statement. It was enough of an answer. She knew who he was, and that would do. Her eyes slid closed again as his thumb gently stroked the soft rounded cheek, moving closer to her, slowly, so as not to startle her. And when his lips touched hers, he didn't so much as kiss her as he applied pressure. Free hand in her hair, tousling it all to hell, but what did he care. He had her, captured her, was in possession of her. She was the one that moved things along. She turned the kiss into a kiss, rather than just a touch. And she sighed, one hand traveling up his chest, past his beating heart, past the scar on his shoulder, coming to a stop on his jaw, just beside his chin. Her fingernails lightly scraped his stubble, enjoying the feel of the roughness.

He didn't take any liberties with her. He let her decide what was going to happen, let her call the shots, so to speak. He didn't want to take advantage of her, didn't want to break the contact between them. Her hand fluttered on his shoulder before slowly rubbing up and down his arm.

It was too soon for what was happening to happen, he realized. This was a woman to take it slow with, to build her trust, to pay his undivided attention to. Somehow, they had slipped out of their awkward embrace, and her head was resting against one of his navy pillows, blonde hair a cloud around her. His body wasn't on hers, no, not yet, but his hand was resting on her hip, playfully plucking at the elastic waist of her pajama pants. One of her hands had found its way around his neck, hand resting back there, fingers teasing the short hairs, the other was on his lower back. He tore his lips away from hers, stopped the movement of his fingers, and rested his forehead against her neck, heat passing from body to body. "Calleigh," he whispered, between his ragged breaths.

She was as breathless as he was, chest heaving as she attempted to regain some sort of composure. "What is it?" she asked, knowing full well what he was going to say.

"Calleigh, we...I..."

She sat up when he moved away from her, but he didn't avert his eyes anymore. He continued to look at her. "Don't fool around, Tim. We're both adults, and we can both deal with the consequenses of...whatever." It was a lame finish at best, but it was the only one that came to mind. "Do you need time?" she asked, referring to the line that he had thrown her only a month ago. Hadn't enough time passed, she asked herself, beginning to feel frustration build in her.

"I don't need time, I need you." It was a growl, a command. He was surprised by his tone, but she wasn't. In fact, she relaxed when she heard the words, reaching a hand out to his face, staring into the chocolate brown eyes that were sparkling back at her.

"Then hide out with me."


	9. Epilogue

Title - Bulletproof

Author - pepsicolagurl

Rating - PG13 for language, situations, violence and the whole shebang

Disclaimer - See Chapter One.

Author's Notes - The end. This is it. There's no sequel for this one, but I do have another story in the works. These two characters have inspired me. God help us all. Thank you to all of you who reviewed. I really appreciate it more than you can tell. And yes, there is sex in this part, but nothing explicit. It didn't seem right after writing this whole thing, so the PG13 rating remains. So, enjoy this last part, and I hope to see you the next time around.

Dedications - Kind of late for them, but here we go. First of all, to my mother, who laughed at my pain: "What, are you telling me that you cried? It's a television characters." To which I responded, "Hey, I've caught you crying over people that died on Days of Our Lives. Don't mock my pain." To my best friend, Nancy: "What, who was it that died? Oh, was he that cute one?" And to my father, who is absolutely clueless about the things that I do. Yes, Dad, all this typing that I do late at night, early in the morning, whatever, is because I'm writing you a love letter. Now I know who I got my sarcasm from. It only took twenty one years to figure it out. And finally, most importantly, to all the fans who believe, like me, that again, there's just something about these two characters that inspire.

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Bulletproof

Epilogue

Calleigh yawned as she brought the coffee cup up to her lips, blowing on the hot liquid before regarding the scene before her. It was, to say the least, messy. The suspect had no clue of what he was doing. He had left a lot of evidence, evidence of incompetence, all over the place. In fact, that suspect was currently using up all the hot water in the shower. A faint smile curved her lips as she sat down at the rarely used dining room table, this time utilized for all of its space.

_She felt her body being lifted, felt his strong arms encircle her, surround her, as he laid her gently on the bed. The pillows were still in the living room, but neither of them cared. His lips never left hers as she sunk back onto the mattress, feeling his arms leave her waist, and instead caressed her, from the top of her blonde hair, down her face, down her arms, down to her fingertips which were splayed on his shoulders._

She shook her head, reaching for the nearby remote and pointing it in the direction of the large stereo system in the living room, turning on the radio. Her coffee mug went down beside her as she reached for the first roll of wrapping paper, unrolling it in front of her and placing the first box on it, reaching for the scissors. A deal was a deal, after all.

_There was no doubt in her mind that he would be a considerate lover, someone who cared about her first. So unlike the other men she had dated in the past, who had assumed that she liked it rough, because of what she did, because of who she was. There was tenderness in his touches, and when she chanced opening her eyes, she found him staring back at her, his eyes devouring her, and there pain was gone from his eyes, the sadness that he tried so hard to hide, but failed most of the time. She sighed against him, when his lips burnt a path across her jaw and down her neck. This was sublime. There was no other word to describe it._

The woman felt a blush rising to her cheeks as she flashed back to last night, and instead, looked back down at her wrapping. Her fingers moved automatically as she cut the coloured paper, pulled it around the box and taped it into place. The music from the radio, whatever it was, barely floated out to her, and she was glad. She was enjoying her flashbacks, she was enjoying reliving those moments, even if they hadn't happened that long ago. She finished with the first gift, complete with bow and gift tag, before moving it off to the side to reach for the next.

_He was teasing her. He would move away when she tried to get closer, keeping her in place by the sensuous movements of his hands. She felt them playing with the bottom of her tank top, unsure of whether or not to continue, to go further. She sat up, helping him, looking at him. The shirt dropped on the floor with barely a whisper. There was no smile on his face, ut it was inhis eyes, and that was all that mattered. His eyes smiled at her. And now, those hands, rough by feel, but tender by touch, were on the naked skin of her back, and she loved it. Couldn't stop it. Didn't want to stop._

The sound of the water running still came from the bathroom, and the occasional sound of a shampoo bottle being put back down, a bar of soap being put back into place. There had been no awkward morning after moment for them. She had woken up exactly where she had fallen asleep, in his arms, head against his chest, his face buried in her hair. And he had woken her gently, knowing that she was a morning person, knowing not to startle her. Rubbed his hand up and down her bare arm, caressed her fingers, dropped feather-like kisses in her hair. She had woken with a smile, just like she had fallen asleep with a smile.

_Soft murmurs, quiet whispers. They didn't really need to speak. It was if their bodies had been waiting for this. They were so attuned to each other, in sync with each other. He hovered over her. He laid her back again, and instead of the warm hands on her back, it was the cool sheets. She balled her hands in his tee shirt, tugging at it, pulling at it, before he finally relented, and it joined her shirt. Her fingers examined the newly uncovered skin, willing herself never to forget the texture, the smell of it. His scar was a part of him now, something that had brought them together. _

With Alexx's gift wrapped, and she had no doubt that it was for her, because she had peeked in the box, she moved onto Eric's gift. A new roll of wrapping paper, picking up the scissors again. The sound of paper being cut filled the air before she reached for her coffee and finally took a sip of the hot liquid. The water was shut off now, and she couldn't help but wonder when that had happened. Her mind filled with the image of Tim Speedle, dripping wet, a towel wrapped around his waist. She bit her lip as she tried to concentrate on the gift she was wrapping, but it was no use. She knew where her mind was.

_The kisses started at the waist band of her pants and slowly moved up. Her hands were useless, she didn't have the strength to move them as he covered her feverish skin with his lips. Her stomach muslces contracted and then relaxed. he moved higher up, eyes closed, tip of his nose rubbing against her skin. Another sigh, this time his, enjoying the taste of her skin, the sweetness, the saltiness. He continued upward, now kissing the warm, intimate area between her breasts, her eyes sliding shut as he paid attention to that certain area, his bare skin sliding against hers. This was torture. Her mind was so wrapped up in her own pleasure that she forgot she was supposed to be a willing partner in this. And she commanded herself to move her hands, even if only to rest them on his skin, as he finally left that small purchase of skin, moving up to her neck, kissing her pulse. He slid up and came near her ear, as her hands finally loved again, caressing the warm skin of his shoulders, the back of his neck. Yes, this was how it was done, she told herself. Give and take. But she stopped when he heard his whisper, breath so hot against her skin. Heaven. This was Heaven._

She heard his bare feet pad across the hallway, back to the bedroom. Was he expecting her to still be in bed? She couldn't stay there forever, no matter how much she wanted. She made a promise, made a deal, and she was paying up on her end of it, she told herself as Eric's gift went off to the side. Horatio's was next.

_"No," he had whispered, and her hands stilled, eyes opened, as she looked back at him. She repeated the word, watching as he shook his head. The smile was in his eyes again, brightening them, making them sparkle in the dim light that fought its way through the curtains. He returned to his ministrations on her neck, allowing her mind to race through all the possibilities of what that meant before she felt his chuckle against her skin, that throaty chuckle, and her eyes closed again at the sensation. "All about you," he murmured, his hands pushing her hair out of the way, so that he could get to an area of skin that he hadn't yet covered. She smiled._

Drawers opening, closet doors opening, metal hangers bouncing against each other. He was getting dressed, and here she was, sitting in a pair of his old jeans, certain that they didn't fit him anymore, and to tell the truth, they were still too big on her, and one of his button down shirts over her tank top from the night before. What would he say when she saw him, his shirt rolled up to her elbows, his jeans rolled up so that they weren't dragging on the ground anymore. Then she realized that she didn't care. Why should she?

_His caresses left her skin on fire. Completely unclothed now, for his eyes to examine. He had, and then gone back to the task at hand. She was completely at his mercy, her mind unable to comprehend anything but his touch, his smell, his voice. The barrier of clothing had been erased, and she shuddered with pleasure when his legs brushed against hers, his torso touched hers, his hands touched her. He was skilled. There was no other way to put it. She needed him, wanted him. She was ready, but he simply pulled himself up her body again. His lips left her after one last kiss, his hands cupping her face. He waited until she opened her crystalline eyes to look at him. "Hi," he whispered, and she was surprised at the prickle of tears in her eyes. This was the kind of man he was. "Hi," she whispered back, feeling his kiss on her cheek. She nodded, giving her final consent. This was it, this was the moment._

She ran a hand through her hair and looked over her shoulder when he entered the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Their eyes met, but neither of them said anything. Words would be useless at this point. They now knew each other, intimately by touch, intimately by soul from their whispered coversation the night before, when she had laid in his arms, tracing a never ending pattern on his chest. His eyes were smiling again, as he sipped her coffee. She tore his eyes away from him and finished wrapping the last gift on the table, closing her eyes when he walked behind her, and bent to kiss her cheek. Smell of soap, smell of toothpaste, smell of him.

_She sighed when he entered her, slowly, oh so slowly, not wanting to bruise her delicate skin. The entire time, his lips ravaged hers, her hands on his skin, eyes closed to absorb the sensations. God, this was what it was like to make love to a man, to him. She was wrapped up in the sensations that he had created, painfully aware of her heavy breathing mixed with his, the tension in her shoulders, the openness of her body. He was kind, he was gentle. He filled her completely._

His eyes were on her fingers as she tore the tape and applied it to the wrapping paper, smoothing it out. It joined the others on the table. His eyes devoured every part of her, her lithe body encased in his larger clothes, looking for allt he world like a little girl playing dress-up in her father's clothes. He fought a smile at the thought of Calleigh as a child, choosing instead to remain looking at her, and her eyes met his.

_She lay in his arms afterwards, listening to him breathe, listening to his heartbeat. They were both awake. Every now and then, as if he couldn't help it, he tightened his hold on her and kissed a part of her. Her hair, her face, her hands, her shoulder, whatever he could get near. "Tim?" she whispered, raising her eyes to look at him. She saw him smile, actually smile. Why didn't he smile more often, she wondered. It was boyish, charming, and completely unexpected. He looked down at her, as she brought her lips up to his. Gentle kiss, almost chaste. "Thank you."_

She stretched her arms above her head, his eyes following the raising hem of the tank top, the tender skin that she uncovered for a second or two. She flashed a smile at him. "I'm done."

"I can see that," he answered, taking pleasure in the look on her face. He watched her finish her coffee and stand up, bending over him for a kiss, long hair creating a curtain around them, seperating them from the rest of the world.

"I should get home, change," she told him.

He reached out and took her hand, stopping her from turning away, before throwing the same line at her that she had used on him last night.

"Hide out with me."


End file.
